The Depths of Shallowness
by Sacred Dust
Summary: The TV is right: it's a sick, sad world out there. I try not to make it any worse than it is. But if one big wrong is all it takes to make the rest of it right for me, is it worth it? And is there any point to asking, "why my sister?" Rated T for adult situations, language and a relationship that goes beyond...you know, sisterly.
1. Is It Wrong Yet?

_If you're reading this at all, I guess you must be at least morbidly curious. It's not a joke and I'm not crazy. But for some reason I can't put my finger on, Daria/Quinn is a darkly interesting idea and I'm challenging myself as a writer to make it work. So without further pretension, here goes. I don't own Daria._

**The Depths of Shallowness**

Chapter 1: Is It Wrong Yet?

Ω Ω Ω

It was kind of an accident.

I wish I could say it was completely an accident. But that wouldn't be true. And it is my life's ambition to be honest, so I can alienate everybody I know and end up a lonely old woman in a one-room apartment with a large number of cats. It's working all right so far.

She always steals the bathroom. I never see her do it. It's like she waits for the perfect moment, when I'm grabbing a towel and a change of clothes, to jump in there before me. And a shower isn't enough for her, she has to take a bath too. So she takes forever and uses all the hot water. A simple bear trap in the doorway could solve this problem, but such efficiency is the privilege of Melody Powers, not Daria Morgendorffer.

There was a _Sick Sad World _marathon the night before. Even with Jane out of town at a friend's art exhibit, it was required viewing. I should have slept in after it. But I'd set my alarm early in futile hopes of getting a hot shower, so I woke up still exhausted. I got the bathroom ready, then went back to grab some stuff. I lay on the bed for just a second to reach a shirt that was underneath, blinked, and opened my eyes 30 minutes later.

I guess I stumbled back to the bathroom half-asleep and nudged open a door that should have been latched. From there, my life descended into a new level of hell.

Had I retained a single functioning brain cell, I would have known Quinn was already in there. It was too much to ask of me that morning. But the steam in the air was a good clue. Quinn herself was a slightly better clue when she stomped out of the shower and threw open a cupboard above the sink. "Freakin' good shampoo, never where it's supposed to freakin' be. Quit freakin' hiding it, Mom..."

_Quit freakin' looking, Daria._

I didn't until she found the right bottle and jumped back in. That's why it wasn't completely an accident.

I ran to my room, locked the door and threw my glasses aside, hoping to never see anything _that_ clearly again. I dove under the blankets like a kid running from an imaginary monster. But I was a teenager and the monster was real. I was in the dark with my eyes closed and could still see her, muttering to herself and rummaging through toiletries. Standing on one foot to reach up a little higher. Ankle, leg, behind, back, wet orange hair clinging to her like liquid fire. Her body formed a soft continuous center line the entire room converged upon and held. A line I had definitely just crossed by looking at and _not hating it._

In the interests of sanity, I used to think my sister was just a color-coordinated outfit with hands and feet, and on her best days a functional head. I hate being wrong.

I hated myself more when I remembered I forgot to shut the bathroom door.


	2. Shower Rangers

"_You have to be good at something. You're good at your reading and writing and stuff and you're good at your little paintings. I figure being attractive and popular, that's what I'm good at. Maybe it's not really important, but it's what I can do."_

Chapter 2: Shower Rangers

Ω Ω Ω

I don't know, I guess I like what I see in the mirror. I mean, with nothing on it's kind of hard to say because I can't compare a top to a bottom, a skirt to shoes or eyeliner to lipstick or whatever. When I have clothes on I'm cute. Without them I just feel…I don't know what word to use. ("Naked?" Daria would say. Shut up, Daria.) Vulnerable.

Clothes are my world. They make me feel safe. I never let guys try to touch me under them and I hate when they undress me with their eyes. What I put on is for them. What's underneath is different. I'm not sure how I feel about it or if anyone would like it. I can pick out a killer outfit in record time—sometimes under ten minutes! But until then it's just me, staring into the mirror and wondering "who is she, what does she want, why is she here anyway?" And it's not like the mirror ever answers.

There would be another time to think about non-cute stuff like that. I looked away from it and threw a big towel around myself, then a matching smaller one around my hair. Give Daria a break and save the hair dryer and makeup for my room. I put away the exfoliating soap, strawberry-scented body wash, coconut baby lotion, shea butter foot cream and a few other necessities of life. Then I left the good shampoo on the shower rack (where it's _supposed_ to be), turned around and saw the door sitting half open.

_What the hell?_

Talk about not cute, that's just scary! It wasn't that way when I got in. Had somebody seen me? Just the idea that they could have made me so mad. And since there was only one person in this house _weird _enough to ever pull something like that…

I threw it open the rest of the way and marched out. Steeling myself for a possible sighting of the ugliest bedroom in Lawndale, I took a deep breath and pounded on my sister's door. "Hey, _Daria!"_

"Mmmmphlll," I heard her say. "At the sound of the tone, it will be time to leave me the hell alone."

I rolled my eyes and knocked again. Finally something rustled, groaned and staggered up to the door. A lock clicked (weird, she never locks her door) and…_wow, her morning face is even more unpleasant than her usual one._

"Oh, Miss Quinn. Have you come to take me to the mall?"

As usual, I didn't get what she was talking about. "Like I'd ever go shopping with _you!_ Listen, Daria, you know how bathroom doors are supposed to stay shut till the cute girl inside _opens_ them?"

Something strange happened. She changed expression. Just for a split second (ew, reminds me of split ends) she looked kind of…scared. But then it was gone. "You mean, have I ever heard it put exactly that way? No. No, I haven't."

"Dariaaaa! You know what I mean! I know you opened the door while I was in there. I don't know if you were trying to freak me out or what, but quit it. Just because you're jealous of my impeccable timing…"

"You mean how you steal the bathroom every morning," she wasn't wearing her glasses. I never got to see her face without them. It was kind of…almost decent looking.

"That's because I _need_ it!" It was dumb and for some weird reason I'd been thinking about this a lot, but I could make her over. It might take more time and quality makeup than she could ever repay, but with my genes there was always hope. Not that she'd ever agree to it because some people just don't know what's good for them. But if she ever did, it might really be...

"Quinn! Hello?" I jumped a little. "Welcome back to our regularly scheduled program. The one where you go away and…and put some damn clothes on!"

The door slammed in my face. When did she get madder than _I_ was?

I stormed back to my room. Who cared what was wrong with her? There was always something wrong with Daria. But I wasn't going to let her off that easy.


	3. It Was Not Improved With Pizza

"_Um, you know that grade you gave me? Sandi says I only got it because you're always at my house. Is that true?"_

"_Let me pose you a question, grasshopper. If I gave you a grade that you didn't earn, that would be acting nice. Could I face myself if I were ever nice to you?"_

Chapter 3: It Was Not Improved With Pizza

Ω Ω Ω

So she didn't know I'd actually seen her, and I got rid of her in less than five minutes at no cost. That didn't seem so bad. I mean, compared to the Spanish Inquisition.

By providence or design, we didn't see each other again for a while. Mom and Dad were working as usual, and Mom left a note saying she wouldn't be back until later tonight, "so don't let your father cook anything." I thought I would enjoy the peace and quiet, but the breakup with Tom and Jane being gone hadn't left me with very much to do. Just when I could feel my brain clawing at the insides of my skull in an effort to escape and find a more interesting body, Jane called.

"Kon nichi wa, mi amiga. I have made my triumphant return to Lawndale."

Just hearing her voice made me smile a little. "I'll alert the authorities at once. How was your friend's exhibit?"

"I came, I saw, I feigned interest. If you like, I can relate the sordid details while we conquer a pizza."

That word never sounded so good. We met at Pizza King 20 minutes later for pepperoni and extra cheese.

"Was that relief I heard in your voice earlier?"

"That or the medication."

"Is the government using you as a test subject again?" Jane peered at me suspiciously. "Hmm. No scars, burns or wires…at least none that I can see."

"Just mental scars. I'll tell you later."

We started talking about her friend's considerable talent being wasted on too generic and easily digested work. Jane was surprisingly talkative. I was so grateful for the distraction that I let her rant about "compulsively banal vision," and how true creativity went unrewarded in the art world, and how she was going to "grab the right people and shake 'em" when she went to BFAC that fall.

I was finally starting to relax when a long-sleeved pink shirt and a pair of jeans, with no other features I care to mention, plopped down right next to Jane and grabbed a slice. "Mmm. Eww, greasy!"

I can't prove that I had just discovered a parallel dimension, but there was no other way to explain this. Quinn never ate here with me. When she did happen to come in at the same time, she chose a table as far from mine as physically possible. I was happy; she was happy.

Jane glanced back and forth between us with that morbidly curious look she always had when Quinn was around. I preferred to study the table.

_Come on, Morgendorffer. Where's the deadpan wit? Say something!_

"Um, Quinn. I like you as a sister I barely talk to and all, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take our relationship to this level."

"I don't like it any more than _you_ do, Daria!" she responded with her usual shrill melodrama. "But I'm just beside myself. I can't apply one more layer of lip gloss until our little issue is resolved."

"I'd hate to bring down that kind of misfortune on the world, but this is _our table,"_ God, she was getting to me.

She swallowed another bite of our food. "I _knooow!_ And I really like what you've done with it and all, but it could use some work from a more experienced designer. For example, more pizza?" She reached into her red suede purse and dangled a ten between finger and thumb.

Jane's gaze now alternated between me and the money. "Well, I guess when she puts it _that_ way…how about it, o friend of friends?"

I chose to get this over with so we could return to our respective worlds. "Er…um, fine. Let's go to the counter and get it. Sis." She raised an eyebrow and nodded. I had more to say as soon as we were out of Jane's earshot. "Okay, Quinn. What do you want?"

"Besides pizza?" she said slyly. "Let's just say it would really help me get over the events of this morning, if…"

"Spit it out!" If she only knew what I'd really done.

"…If you let me make you up. You know, sort of do a makeover…"

She had to be kidding! "Sorry, all I heard was 'over.' As in, this conversation."

"Fine! Leave me traumatized!" she snapped. "I may blurt out some embarrassing family secrets in public, but that's what happens when this kind of psychological damage is left untreated." Jane watched us curiously from the table. So did a few of the customers.

Why me? "Quiet down!_ Fine._ No one knows about it, I wash it off immediately and we never speak of it again."

"Agreed. And by the way, you're paying."

I wondered if steam was visibly rising from my ears. We went up to the counter to get more pizza; Quinn insisted on no cheese. When she walked back to the table ahead of me, I was momentarily distracted by the thin line of perfect skin between her top and her jeans. Something I had seen a thousand times without thinking twice about it.

_That's it, _I thought. _I am officially losing my mind._

We finally got back to the table. I told Quinn and Jane I would be right back and made a beeline for the ladies' room. Finding it empty, I leaned over the sink and calmly started banging my head on the mirror.


	4. Assault With a Makeup Kit

Aren't you terrified?

It's all about attitude. You're too timid, Daria. I could do this all day.

Chapter 4: Assault with a Makeup Kit

Ω Ω Ω

Okay, I know it was kind of crappy of me to make such a big deal out of the bathroom thing, but people as fashionable as I am need their security and Daria obviously wasn't herself that day so I knew I could get away with it, and besides I had nothing to do that night because both of my dates canceled on me (it had something to do with Sandi, I know it) but on second thought that's okay because Stacy said one of them can't keep his hands to himself and the other guy drives an Aztek, and…let me slow down here.

I felt kinda weird about Daria leaving for college. I mean, we never had much in common besides our parents, but at least she was there to show me how not to dress, how not to talk to people and what not to do for fun. In a funny way she inspired me by doing nothing at all.

Or if I wanted to say it Daria-style and be more honest…I compared myself to her for a long time, and maybe I was afraid of losing that. I don't know if it was a good reason for roping her into a temporary makeover she wouldn't appreciate anyway, but it's all I have.

I walked home from the pizza place with her. I won't pretend it was a bag of laughs or anything. But it was different and even kind of nice.

"Quinn."

"Huh?"

"You're going somewhere with me in public."

"So?"

"Without a paper bag over your head or anything. Are you sure you won't be spotted by enemy agents?"

I smiled thinly. "Daria, the only agents I worry about are second-rate thickening agents. And you won't find them anywhere in my makeup, so relax."

"Thank you, Quinn. You're always thinking of me."

I am always thinking of you. I shrugged like I didn't feel totally weird all of a sudden and kept walking. The mind of a dateless cute girl can be a scary thing.

We got home to find Dad standing at the kitchen counter, struggling with a little plastic thingy and a bottle of beer. "Come on, open you gosh-darn thing…grrrr…oh, hi girls!"

"Um, Dad, that's an orange peeler. You're going to…" SNAP. Dad howled angrily. "…Break it. Here." I took the bottle opener from under the sink and pulled off the cap.

"Hey, thanks, kiddo!" he leaned over the bottle and breathed in. "Ahhh, nothing like a good cold one after work! Reminds me of my dad! The way he was…" Dad's face fell, and he just stared into space. "Always drinking. Always needed the beer. Never time for Little Jakey. He never said hello to ME when he got home. It was always 'Jake, bring me a damn beer!' Damn you, old man!"

Daria hadn't said a word since we got home. By now she would make at least one sarcastic comment that went totally over his head, but not this time. She was just looking at me.

I reached over and grabbed the bottle. "Um, Dad…want us to get rid of this for you?"

"And look where you are now, you lousy drunken bastard…sure kiddo." he muttered without looking at us. "Look where you are NOW."

He would probably be like that until Mom got home. I took two glasses, winked at Daria and led the way up to my room.

"Assault with a makeup kit and underage drinking? You're going to fry, Morgendorffer, and I'll be there when they pull the switch." There was the sister I knew.

"Frying? Eww, so unhealthy." I opened my door and flicked on the lights. "Okay, I'll get things ready in here. Just wash your face real quick and we'll get started!" She sighed and shuffled to the bathroom.

I could feel my heart pounding as I arranged bottles and containers on the vanity. Why was I so excited about this? Just because I never got to do it before, I guess. We went through a short phase a few years ago where I pretended to be a brain and she put on a little makeup once, but that was it. Oh, AND she stole a pair of my jeans. She looked pretty good in them, but still...

"I'm here." She made me jump.

"Okay! Just take your jacket off and sit down at the vanity."

She did. "Pour me my half of that drink, Quinn. I'm going to need it."

"Hey Daria…you don't have to do this if you really don't want to."

She crossed her arms and glared. "I'm getting mixed signals here."

"Look, forget what I said at the restaurant. It was stupid and I shouldn't have embarrassed you in front of your friend and if you want you can leave right now—" She was getting up. "But then this will all be for nothing! It's important. Like you said, you can wash it right off and tomorrow it'll be like it never happened."

Her eyes flicked between me and the door.

"Please?" I sighed. "We never do anything."

"And that's my fault?"

"No."

Daria looked at me again. One side of her mouth started to creep up and she turned away to hide it. "Just get me the drink already." I ran over to fill her glass. "I should be honest too before we start. I, uh…I saw you in the bathroom today."

My breath caught in my throat. Suddenly I needed a drink, too. "DAR-iaaaaa! What are you, a stalker or something? That's so creepy!"

"It was a mistake!" she was blushing. She never did that in front of me. "I was half-asleep, the door wasn't latched, I didn't hear the water running..."

"You know how I am about that stuff…"

"If you're referring to your overwhelming fear of being seen without your physical or psychological armor, yes. I do know. Um...sorry."

I glared and handed over her glass. She drank almost half of it in one swallow. "Like you're any different, Daria."

"Excuse me?"

"What about your armor? If they never invented sarcasm, you'd be living in a nuthouse and wearing icky drawstring pants by now! And I'd hate to see you look any less fashionable than you already do."

"Touche. But they did invent sarcasm, and they did invent clothes and fashion. So…to being saved from drawstring pants. I guess." We clinked glasses. "Now let's get this torture over with."

"You mean…"

"Just make me up, Scotty."


	5. The Foundation of Rome

Well, everybody knows that late curfews should be go to people who can use them: attractive and popular people with lots of friends.

Wow! Who said that? Thomas Jefferson? Or was it Barbie?

Chapter 5: The Foundation of Rome

Ω Ω Ω

This was what I always thought hell might be like: sitting at a vanity getting a makeover from my sister.

I guess the devil is losing his edge. I imagined it as a humiliating hour of her ranting about fashion and telling me how ugly I was while slathering glitter on me with a paintbrush. But once I surrendered my glasses, Quinn barely said a word. She went to work with a concentration that I'd never seen in her before. She was slow and careful, sometimes peering into my face, other times standing back to see me from a distance. She looked kind of like Jane did when she was painting, and now I knew how the picture felt: warm and painfully self-conscious.

I swallowed and said, "Aren't you supposed to be saying something here? Like, I've looked like a disaster for 17 years, or you're saving my life by doing this?"

"I don't know, Daria. Am I?" she continued to brush on the powdery foundation.

"It's kind of what I'm used to."

"Okay. You've looked like a disaster for 17 years and I'm saving your life by doing this. Now don't talk, I have to do around your mouth."

Her voice was different. It wasn't exactly music, but it wasn't that self-pitying dental drill whine she always used to get attention. She was easier on the eyes, too. When she wasn't bragging or yelling about her looks, you could see how good they really were. She had a delicate face with a small nose, full lips and gently arching eyebrows. Her body was slim and perfectly shaped, the kind that boys went crazy for.

Was I looking at her the same way this morning? Was I feeling what they felt? A horrible vision flashed through my mind: Joey, Jeffy and Jamie, all with my face.

I shuddered. Stop thinking, Daria. Say something.

"So when do we get to the pig's blood?"

"Later, if you're good," she said. My ears heated up again. She never used to hit my words back at me like this. "There."

"Are we done?" I said hopefully.

She just laughed. "Oh, Daria! Rome wasn't built in a day."

"Well, that does wonders for my self-esteem," I finished off my glass. "Quinn, I don't think half a beer is going to get me through this."

"No, you're way too tense," she agreed. "Be right back. Don't move. And you can't look in the mirror 'till I'm done!"

"Quinn, maybe you shouldn't…" She was gone, leaving me alone in her room. A few years ago, she never would have given me this kind of clearance in a restricted area. Maybe not even yesterday.

Since I wouldn't be escaping for a while, I resigned myself to a quick look around enemy territory. It took a few moments to weather the blinding assault of pink on my senses. Bright pink carpet, darker pink wallpaper, pink curtains, even a pink bulletin board. A yellow smiley-face pillow welcomed me from the bed. Three mirrors were set up in one corner as a shrine to her narcissism. I avoided looking in them and turned to the closet.

She was as dedicated to overpriced designer clothes and brainless fashion magazines as I was to an individual style and true literature. I had to give her that. Listening for her feet on the stairs, I opened an issue of Waif between finger and thumb to see a list of tips on how to be "seductive." I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure whoever came up with them needed counseling.

Should she have been reading stuff like this? When did I start caring?

I let the magazine fall as Quinn slipped back into the room, cradling two more bottles of Dad's finest under one arm. She shut and locked the door with the other. "Room service!"

"Quinn, have you ever considered that something you wanted to do might be a bad idea?"

"DAH-ria, you worry too much," she scoffed and pried open one of the bottles, nearly spilling it on the carpet. "It's not like Mom and Dad will notice. Now drink up. I'm doing something nice for you. Give me a chance to finish it before I come to my senses."

"I'm all in favor of the finishing part."

From there things just kind of floated by. I didn't drink that much and Quinn wasn't rushing, but that's how it was. She moved right on to my eyes ("you don't need concealer," she said with a trace of regret) and brushed on some shadow. The eyeliner pencil was the hard part. I flinched and complained so much that she just gave up and moved on to the mascara.

"You put it on in two thin coats," she said. "Stacy used to rush it and do one big coat, but it looked awful. Her lashes got all gunky..."

"And lo, the first of the seven seals was opened."

"You're weird, Daria."

My mouth was next. She seemed to agonize over what lipstick to use, but she finally committed to a shade of red that looked like all the others to me and moved on to the lip liner ("always do the liner second"). For the last part, she told me to smile for her. I should have known there was a catch.

"To me your ways are wondrous strange. What is this 'smile' you speak of?"

"Come on, I have to find the apples of your cheeks," she held up a container of blush.

"Hm. People have looked at my melons, but never my apples." Did I really say that? Those drinks must have been getting to me. Quinn turned so red that I had to smile. She didn't miss her chance to apply the blush, though. "Did you get that, Quinn?"

"Shut up, Daria."

"What's wrong with me saying melons?"

"We're done. You can look in the mirror now."

"I'm looking at your face," I said. "I went to middle school with two guys who talked about their sphincters all day. You've had it too easy."

She turned away. "EWWWWW! God, shut up already!"

"You've been on a million dates and you're more innocent than I am. Is there anyone you actually like?"

Her back was still turned. "Go to the freakin' mirror, Daria. Or I start reading to you from Waif."

I gave up and chose the lesser of two evils. Instead of using the vanity, I walked past her to the full-length mirrors in the corner. I took a long look, and got a pleasant surprise.

It was still me in there. Instead of copying her own routine or something from a magazine, Quinn had chosen specific tones to complement my darker hair. My eyes stood out more instead of hiding under the bangs. The rosy blush brought out my cheeks and…yikes, I was starting to think like HER.

Bottom line, I didn't look like somebody I wasn't. I looked like a made-up Daria.

I saw Quinn glowering at me in the mirror as she finished the last of the beer. "Well?" she asked.

"Bad news. It says you're no longer the fairest of them all."

She softened, and pretended to pout. "Only for one night. Then your face turns back into a pumpkin."

"Wrong story, Quinn."

"I know. So…you like it?"

"You didn't hear this from me, but yes."

Quinn was past softening. Now she was melting. I could see tears in her eyes. "I…thanks, Daria!" she sniffed, and suddenly crushed me in a hug.

I stared over her shoulder, frozen stiff. We'd never hugged-not since we were old enough to know any better. Then we came to Highland, had to share a room and learned to fear and despise each other. That was one way I felt about her as I got older. And I stuck with it, because the other way was a lot stranger.

As strange as it was this morning. This afternoon. Now.

"Daria," Quinn said. She smelled like fruity perfume and expensive bath products. "Are you okay? Say something."

You're the softest thing in the universe… I liked seeing you naked…hand me that fluffy pen so I can gouge my eyes out…what the hell did you put in those bottles? I doubted any of those would go over well, so I just hugged her back. Our rare "sister" moment turned into a few, then several. Neither of us moved. For once I had to be selfish and not deny myself the best thing I had felt in a long time. But what was her reason?

Quinn let her breath out slowly, tickling my ear. I shivered. I think she felt it. "Daria, do you ever think about…if…I mean, what if we weren't sisters and stuff…?"

My eyes popped open again. That was the perfect opening for another biting remark. I had nothing. I just nodded against her neck. Did she know how I felt? Did she feel something? No, it was impossible. I'm never that lucky. Or unlucky. Whatever.

But her arms got tighter. She leaned back slightly, until our cheeks were brushing together. "You're supposed to say…something sarcastic."

My whole body was warmth. My heart pounded in my throat and I struggled to form words around it. "Um...s-something sarcastic."

Don't do it, Daria.

I didn't move, but she must have known what I was thinking somehow. She nodded against me.

DON'T.

We turned our faces toward each other. Her eyes were closing.

DON'T DO IT SHE'S YOUR SISTER SHE WASN'T SERIOUS SHE'S GOING TO SCREAM MOM WOULD CRUCIFY US UPSIDE DOWN YOU'RE NOT EVEN A GOOD KISSER DON'T DON'T DON'T.

I really should start taking my own advice.

Maybe tomorrow.


	6. A Hottie At Rest

She collapsed right next to your dad? That's so sweet - I mean, in a twisted, horrible sort of way. ...They're not still in bed together, are they?

Heart disease, borderline psychosis... I shudder to think what lies behind door number three in the Morgendorffer genetic code.

Chapter 6: A Hottie At Rest

Ω Ω Ω

Sometimes you just have to trust your own feelings. Like if you're out shopping and you see an amazing dress that's everything you ever dreamed of and your slightly less attractive and possibly jealous friend says it wouldn't be right for you, but you buy it anyway. Daria's not a dress and she's certainly not fashionable, but you get the idea.

I wonder how I got the idea. I just really wanted to do something with her before she moved out and that turned into wanting to make her up and that turned into hugging her and that turned into…something special. It was so different from the kissing I did on my dates sometimes, and not just because it was with her. It scared me to death and it made me feel beautiful and I wished it would never end.

But way too soon, it did.

"Girls! I'm home!"

Daria and I broke apart. She stared at me like she'd just done something terrible. I was breathing so fast I forgot to take in air. "Oh ****…oh ****, Daria."

"Quinn. It's just Mom. The vaguely familiar female organism that spawned us. Remember?"

"Yeah! The spawning lady who's always busy and she's never here except now she is and she's gonna kill us!" I gasped out. "Oh NO! I'm way too cute to die—"

"She doesn't know, and she doesn't have to. Breathe," Daria put her hands on my shoulders, not the same way she had a minute ago. "You're going to be okay. Or as close to it as you ever get."

Even now she stayed calm. I nodded and managed to get myself under control.

KNOCK KNOCK. "Quinn, honey! Have you seen Daria?"

Daria shook her head at me. She grabbed the bottles and glasses and started to wrap them up in her jacket. "NO, Mom!" I yelled way too loud.

"Well, did she say where she was going? She's never out this late."

I tried to sound normal. "Muh-ommm! Maybe she's out reading poems in a graveyard or something!" I bit back a smile as Daria glared at me. She dropped the jacket out my window into the garbage. I guess she had good aim because it barely made a sound. She leaned out after it, but I pulled her back to stop her.

"Well, all right, but I hope she has a good explanation for this," Mom huffed. I heard her quick footsteps going back onto the stairs.

"Going out the window, Daria? Haven't you ever snuck in or out before?" I whispered. "It's too dangerous and someone will see you."

"Are you saying hell has frozen over and you have a better idea?"

"Yes. I'm going to go down and make a scene. Pull them in front of the TV or something. Then you sneak down to the front door and open it like you just got home. It's so much easier. Okay?"

She put her glasses back on slowly and squinted at me. "You mean you're going to help?"

I looked away and acted ashamed. "Well, I did get you into this..."

"Quinn, no. You didn't even know what was happening. It was my fault—"

"OH-kay, I believe you," I said quickly. "I'll do it out of the goodness of my heart. But you owe me big time."

"…I see what you did there."

A few minutes later I was on my way down to distract my parents. I'm not one of the "special" kids, but I swear to God those stairs were talking to me. What if? The first one said. Go back in there and kiss her again, said the second one. You're the most messed up sisters, like, ever, the third one teased. I ran down the rest of the way.

I burst into the kitchen, pulling at my hair and shouting. "MOM! DAD! You won't believe what's happening tonight!"

Dad jumped up with a frightened look on his face and went all stiff. "SIR! At attention, Corporal…oh. It's just you, Quinn."

Mom was so startled she almost dropped her cell phone. "Just a moment, Eric. What on earth is wrong, honey?"

"It's on TV right now. Hurry!" They followed me into the living room. Perfect.

"Maybe it's about that case we just forced Goodwill to settle," Mom said smugly. "They won't get 'thrifty' with our client ever again."

"Here it is! Watch!" I switched the TV on and turned the volume up loud. That was Daria's cue. She tiptoed down the stairs behind us as Mom and Dad watched.

"They're taking a break from their convents…and their coverings! Nuns gone wild, tonight on Sick Sad World!"

"Now that's heaven," Dad muttered, leaning in toward the screen.

"Jake," Mom sighed and crossed her arms. "Quinn, honey, is this what you wanted us to see? I'm sure they're not even real sisters, and—"

"We are too real sisters!" I blurted out.

Mom and Dad stared at me. So did Daria behind them, as she eased the front door open.

Why did I say that? "Umm…I mean…"

Daria shut the door really loud like she just got here.

"Daria!" Mom ran over and started giving her the third degree. "Where have you been? You never stay out this late at night! I'll have you know that…" She stopped short. "Where's your jacket?"

"I gave it to a hobo."

"You what?"

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for 'Shortenin' Bread' on the harmonica."

"Ewww!" I piped up. "That's so high-fat!"

Daria looked at me and smirked. "I'll be sure to tell the hobo your concerns. Along with your name and address."

"Daria, I won't have you associating with…" Mom stopped again. "Is that makeup?"

She froze for just a sec. "Oh. Yeah. Jane's crazy sister was in town and offered to buy me a pizza if I'd let her make me up. I had a temporary lapse in my own sanity and said yes." She was a better liar than I thought.

"I'm hearing the word 'sister' a lot tonight," Dad said curiously.

"Jake, stop talking. Well, Daria, it…it looks very nice on you, dear." Mom was so shocked that she forgot to be mad anymore. "And I'm sure you won't mind cutting the grass tomorrow to make up for scaring us like this, hmm?" Almost forgot.

Ω Ω Ω

Daria could have run back to her room while Mom was still downstairs, but she stayed just to keep me from freaking out. That felt almost as good as the kiss, because it was one of those things we wouldn't have done for each other before.

That's what I was thinking about while I changed into my pajamas. Sleep sounded like the greatest thing in the world after a day like this, but I decided I had to tell her first.

I padded down the hall and knocked softly on her door. "Daria?"

After a really long moment, she opened the door wearing a gray nightshirt with a picture of some old guy on it. Probably another brain. Her lights were off so she must have been in bed already.

"Hi," I whispered.

"Hey."

Neither of us knew what to say for a minute. She kept glancing at me and then looking away. I couldn't stop staring at her lips and thinking about what they felt like.

"So are you mad about…anything?"

"No. I just need to sort out my thoughts and sleep." She had washed off the makeup. Somehow she didn't look that bad without it.

"Yeah, I…me too. I just wanted to say thanks, for getting in trouble and everything. I mean, I KNOW it was worth it because it was for me, but…I want to give you something." I held out my yellow smiley-face pillow.

She frowned at it, nonplussed. "I'd prefer a 'something' with a deceased president on it."

"Daria! He always helps me get to sleep, and he means a lot to me. So just for tonight, maybe he'll help you." I pressed the pillow into her hands.

"Well…okay. As long as he doesn't get fresh."

"You're weird, Daria."

"I'd say we're both very weird at this point," she did an almost-smile. "Good night, Quinn."

"Night," I said. Suddenly I felt a wicked joke bubble up inside me. "And by the way…nice melons."

She chased me back across the hallway.


	7. Dream Off

_Remember when we were little and we shared a room?_

_Yes, Quinn._

_I hated that._

_So did I._

_It's fun to reminisce, isn't it?_

Chapter 7: Dream Off

Ω Ω Ω

"It's not elitist, Daria."

I opened my eyes, but I still couldn't see. It was as dark as Principal Li's soul in here…wherever here was. "Tom?" My voice echoed everywhere, so loud it hurt my ears.

"I said it's not elitist. And it's not my world," my ex-boyfriend said. A beam of light appeared and there he was. "It's our world. Don't be mad at me just because you haven't found your place in it."

"Uh…hey, Tom. Nice acoustics in here. Does Trent know about this place?"

He crossed his arms and looked away. "We're talking about us. Are you still as passive-aggressive as you were with me? Or are you finally learning how to treat the people who care about you?"

A distorted guitar chord squealed through the air. It was so loud I thought it would shatter my eardrums.

"That was where you slipped up, man," Trent's hushed, throaty voice echoed behind us. "You got too close to her. She can't deal with that. You've gotta just stand back, look cool...and let her crush on you."

"Jesus, Trent. Get that thing tuned," I glared at both of them. "And I don't need you guys talking about my issues. I'm the one who suffers because of them."

"Gotta admit, she's right." Trent said.

Tom shrugged. "We tried. You weren't that bad a kisser, though."

Another unbearable chord screeched out. The noise was so bad I turned and ran. When I looked back, I saw a long green field and a football sailing toward me. I caught it in the end zone and went sprawling. An invisible audience erupted with cheers.

"Yaaaaay!" Brittany squeaked from the sideline. "Touchdown! Gimme a D! Gimme a…how do you spell your name again, Daria?"

"Um, just call me number zero." I struggled to my feet and brushed grass out of my hair.

"Zero, zero, she's our girl! If she can't do it—"

_"Damn that squirrel!"_ my dad ran past me, chasing a squirrel up a giant tree at the edge of the field.

I blinked a few times and the sky turned red. "Wow. What's Pizza King putting in that new sauce, anyway?"

"It's just a dream, Daria. You know, those things you have at night where you win the state championship?" Kevin jogged up to us, breathing hard.

For a moment the sun became so bright I couldn't see. Then it faded into the fluorescent lighting of a Lawndale High classroom. "Great. From one level of hell to another." I said.

"Correction, KEVIN," an incensed Mr. DeMartino stalked in. "A DREAM is what's left when a frustrated, DEMORALIZED teacher has NOTHING left to give, and takes nocturnal REVENGE on the worst student he's EVER HAD!"

"Yuh-oh. Keep the game ball, Daria!" Kevin jumped over a desk and ran out of the room like an ape, with DeMartino in hot pursuit.

I looked down sadly at the ball. But now it was a yellow pillow with a smiley-face on it. "Quinn? Can you help me out of this already? It's your fault anyway."

Brittany launched into a new cheer. She went higher with every jump, until her pigtails were brushing the lights. "Daria and Quinn! You're really stuck! You're falling for each other! So now you're f—"

"Quinn..." I said louder.

"Let me steal her from you, Daria. Just to make things even," Jane said from the desk beside me.

"No," I snapped. "Quinn!"

"Face it, you know I wouldn't be okay with this. And you'll just mess it up anyway. Oh, wait! It's messed up from the start, because she's your—"

Ω Ω Ω

_"Quinn!"_ I shouted and sat up in bed.

"DAH-ria, wake up! I'm here." She was leaning over me in the dark with a frightened look on her face. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

I grabbed her arm. I had to, just to know she was real. My heart was beating so hard she must have heard it.

"Did you have a nightmare or something?"

"I was shouting your name. What do _you_ think?" I mumbled.

She chuckled to herself. "You could have woken up Mom and Dad." She stared at me for a moment while I tried to think of something to say. Mission failed. "Let me go already! I'll be back."

I stared up at the shadowed ceiling, breathing hard and wondering what other bad dreams were hiding in the corners. Before my imagination could run away with me again, Quinn was there. I caught a glimpse of a purple tank top, blue pajama pants and a pillow under one arm before she closed the door behind her.

"Quinn? I thought our days of sharing a room were mercifully over."

"They were until you started yelling my name in the middle of the night. Can't you keep a secret at all?" she grumbled, shoving her way under the blankets. "And don't you dare put your cold feet on me."

A leaden silence descended on us. After what happened that evening, this was kind of awkward. But I guess I'd rather be embarrassed than scared, and most of the nervous electricity from before was gone. I felt like I could tell her anything. "Quinn?"

"Let me sleep, Daria."

"You know the way I feel about you is wrong."

She yawned. "And you call me a drama queen. Whatever this is, it's letting us be in the same room and talk without going nuts. It's like we finally get each other. Sort of." Shuffling noises as she turned over. "I'm so sick of the whole...sibling ribaldry."

I never laugh, but the irony of that one nearly broke me. I tried to cover it up by coughing. "I think you mean _rivalry."_

"Whatever."

Exhaustion tugged at me. What a ridiculous day this had been. "Quinn?"

"Daria, if you don't let me sleep I'm leaving."

"One more thing. I have to say it before I return to my senses."

"Hm."

I whispered it into the dark. Who knew what it could mean under these circumstances? But it was out.

She took it silently, like she was waiting for a punchline. There wasn't one. Finally she put an arm over me and settled in.

"I love you too, Daria."

I guess that was the best feeling I ever had in my life.

"But don't try anything weird."

...Was it morning yet?


	8. Fashion Statement

_We did make a pretty good team. _

_Maybe you should quit the Fashion Club and we could just go around solving crimes._

_But that's what the Fashion Club is all about! Solving crimes against fashion._

Chapter 8: Fashion Statement

Ω Ω Ω

The last time she hugged me was to embarrass me.

It was right in front of the Fashion Club and everything! I didn't even try to push her away. We were on a moving parade float—long story—but maybe that wasn't the only reason.

Daria was different when she was asleep. I tried not to stare like I was some dirty old man in a *shudder* trench coat, but without the glasses and the invisible rain cloud hanging over her head, she looked…peaceful. I snuck out of her room so I wouldn't wake her up. And just in case Mom and Dad tried to wake US up. Now that would be a nightmare!

I even took my shower without the bath to leave some hot water for her. So that, plus staying with her last night, made three favors I did for free. Without even _thinking_ about money.

"I'm really losing my edge," I sighed and shut off the water. I didn't mind showering—how could maintaining my irresistible cuteness not be fun? But the one part I hated was looking in the mirror before my clothes were on. Even that felt kind of like another person seeing me. I tried not to do it.

_What if Daria saw me again?_

That shouldn't have made me feel better at all, but it kind of did. Like when I spent a lot on something I just had to have _now_, even though it would be on sale next week…it seemed wrong but it felt right.

Speaking of shopping, I had to get out of the house and clear my head. I threw on my usual outfit and jogged downstairs.

"I'll be home for dinner tonight, Jake," I heard Mom say on her way out. "Take the trash out to the curb, would you dear?" The door closed.

"Take the trash out, Jake. Let me do the talking, Jake. You don't know anything about our girls, Jake." Dad muttered as he straightened out his briefcase at the table. "Dammit, how much can a man _take?"_

_The trash?_ I thought. _The empty bottles. Daria's jacket!_

"I'll do it, Daddy!" I rushed down to the front door. "I'll get the trash, okay? You don't have to. I mean, don't even look at it or anything. Not that there's anything important in there because there isn't. It's just… Annual Kids Trash-Taking-Out Day or, um, something."

"Thanks, sweetie! Hmm…I wonder why that wasn't on the calendar." Dad marched out with a smile, clueless as ever.

I slipped the bottles into the recycling and took the jacket back inside. I was just going to take it upstairs and hang it on Daria's doorknob. But as long as she was conked out and I was losing my mind anyway…

_Not here. Too many windows._ For once I took my brain's advice and ran upstairs to my room. I stood in front of the mirrors, took a deep breath and slipped the jacket on.

It smelled like her: old books and pizza. And it actually fit! Where the wide, flaring collar got hung up on her high shoulders, it sat lower on me so the sleeves weren't too short. And most importantly, it looked good. That shade of green really set off my carrot-colored hair. Of course wearing it over a hot pink shirt was a crime against nature, but I had a lighter green one that would be just perfect. I put it on, tied my hair into a ponytail and called Sandi to arrange a shopping spree for the former Fashion Club.

Why was I even doing this? The whole conscience thing, I guess. I used to avoid her like yellow lipstick and tell people she was my cousin. It was something I wanted to make up for.

Thirty minutes later I met my friends and my destiny outside Cranberry Commons. The looks on their faces told me it was going to be a tough sell. I was ready.

Stacy and Tiffany just stood gawking. One offered a shocked "H-hi, Quinn," the other a "Whaaaat happennnned?"

Sandi had her arms crossed and a wicked gleam in her eye. "Gee, _Quinn._ I see you have chosen to provide us with two topics of conversation. Should we begin with that jacket, which I hope is being holographically projected on you by mad anti-fashion scientists? Or the fact that said jacket belongs to your once-alleged _cousin?"_

"Oh, Sandi!" I simpered. "You know as well as _I_ do that one of the most welcome challenges of the fashionable is to take that which is unacceptable on someone else and make it part of a functional outfit."

"Yes, Quinn. A challenge which you have failed by wearing at least 50% wool out of season."

"_Actually_, Sandi, this is a widely recognized autumn look which the surprisingly cool weather for early September has made not only valid, but a refreshing change from the summer halter trend that even _Waif _admitted was overstaying its welcome."

Sandi glanced down at her own halter top and goose pimples. "Quinn, dear, perhaps you have forgotten that mixing primaries during daylight hours is unacceptable in _any _season?"

"I understand how _some_ people might think that. Particularly if they forget that blue jeans haven't counted against the primary-mixing rule for approximately ever. Not that _you_ would make that mistake, Sandi."

I could almost hear her teeth grinding. But I wasn't backing down this time. "And our explicitly stated rule against _poaching_ accessories from relatives to conceal one's own lack of ideas?"

"Null and void since the Fashion Club was formally dissolved!"

We were almost nose to nose."And what is the _real_ reason you are wearing that?"

"I love my sister!" I snapped.

It was finally out. People were staring as they walked in and out of the store. An ominous silence fell over us as I waited to be torn to shreds.

Stacy finally broke the ice. "Um…well, I think it looks really good on you, Quinn!" She ignored the furious look Sandi shot at her.

Tiffany nodded slowly. "Looooove is never out of fashioooooon."

I won. Sandi trailed behind us, speechless for once as I led the way into Cashman's. My shoes hardly touched the ground.

_That was for you, Daria. _

Ω Ω Ω

The outcome of that shopping trip will probably be written about in local fashion history books for years to come, but the mini version is that Sandi, Stacy and Tiffany all left the store wearing jackets almost exactly like Daria's. I can't _help_ it if I'm so popular that everything I do becomes the next big thing! It's my curse…and my burden.

"Gee, _Quinn_," Sandi drawled beside me. I braced myself for more verbal abuse. "I can't help but notice that…um…it _is_ unseasonably cool."

Had she just _agreed_ with me?

We promised to spread the trend around school as soon as classes started next week, and parted ways. I walked home on a cloud and wondered if I would tell Daria all this—and if I did, how to make sure she wouldn't kill me before I finished the story. I was jolted out of my daydreams by some quick footsteps coming toward me on the sidewalk.

It was that Jane girl who's always hanging out with Daria. She was out running or something, but stopped as soon as she saw me. "Wow, Daria…you look different today."

I lowered my voice and tried to look depressed. "Um…yep. That's me, Daria. Life sucks and then you cry. See you later, Jane."

She did that thing where she smirks but you can tell she's not amused. "Nice try. So where's the rest of her?"

"Oh, it was tragic! The Fashion Police kidnapped her and forced her to get a makeover. Be careful they don't get you, too." Okay, that totally came from nowhere. Was I _talking_ like my sister now?

Jane was frowning now. "All right, Quinn. Very funny. So really, what are you doing out here with her jacket? Did you borrow it or something?"

"Um…"

"You're supposed to check yes or no."

God, was she nosy. She didn't mean anything by it, but I started getting hot and irritated anyway. I guess for the first time, I stopped to think what might happen if someone else found out about me and Daria.

Suddenly I just felt sick. I waved my hand and laughed nervously. "Well, that's a really funny story and all, Jane…but I kinda have to tell it to Daria first. So, um, see ya later!" I zipped up the jacket and did some jogging of my own.

"Hey, where are you…" She didn't finish her sentence and I didn't stop to let her.

I congratulated myself on the quick escape, but the chills in my spine followed me all the way home.


	9. God Save the Quinn

_Quinn…you're, um, not as superficial as you act. I'm sure you just feel obliged to stress the more moronic aspects of your personality so you'll fit in better with the fashion girls. Like a mask you wear, 'cause you think they wouldn't like the real you._

_You mean sort of the way you keep people away by being really unfriendly and stuff?_

_Hey, we're talking about YOU here._

Chapter 9: God Save the Quinn

Ω Ω Ω

Quinn was gone. I couldn't find my jacket. There was enough hot water left for my shower. And I was getting over one of the weirdest dreams of my life. This was going to be another interesting day.

I sat around and did some light reading on CIA operations in the 1950s Middle East. Then I tried to start a new Melody Powers story, but my heart wasn't in it. Maybe I should try to publish something one of these days. I had toyed with the idea of submitting a Melody manuscript, but there was always a danger that some readers would take a nymphomaniacal, satirically right-wing, homicidally anticommunist agent as a positive role model. I had no desire to unleash that kind of madness upon the world.

There was enough madness going on later that afternoon, when Quinn burst into the house looking like she was ready to cry, scream or both. I was on the couch watching a boring cooking show. She threw me my jacket without a word and dashed upstairs like the hounds of hell were after her. A door slammed a few seconds later.

"Hello, Quinn," I muttered, not without concern. I knew better than to run straight up after her. Instead I gave her a minute and inspected the jacket for scuffs, tears and stray glitter. It seemed fine. At least Quinn had rescued it from the trash, but why wait until now to give it back?

The phone rang. I muted the TV and answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, Daria," It was Jane. "Busy?"

"I'm watching a vegan cooking show. Does that answer your question?"

"Hmmm. How many vegans go into the recipe?"

I smiled at that one. "I wish it were that interesting. Thanks for calling in time to prevent cerebral meltdown."

"I do what I can. Unless it requires effort. I'll make you a deal: in exchange for me saving your brain, entertain me with the juicy details of why our dinner was Quinnjacked yesterday?"

I hesitated. How much should I tell her? "Um…it's kind of…" Complicated? Potentially illegal? Purple? I was drawing a blank.

"Come on, I know the obnoxiously cute move in mysterious ways, but you must know something. One day she won't be seen in public with you, and the next there she is at our table. Was she sick or something?"

"She's fine," I said quickly. "She's…um, we're both fine." God, how lame. And not suspicious at all.

"O…kay. That's good," Jane was as confused as I should have expected. "She looked fine today, too. I just thought—"

"You saw her?"

"Yeah, I ran into her going by my house. I slept in this morning, so I didn't do my run until later. What was that whole thing with your jacket?"

"You mean the pocket lint? I've been saving it."

"I mean the thing with _Quinn_ and your jacket."

It's lucky I wear those big boots. I needed them to hold all the blood that just drained from my face. The first thing I thought of was last night. Did Jane know what happened? How _could_ she? My hands shook as I gripped the phone. "Um…what thing?"

A few minutes later I was sorry I asked. I should have stayed calm and made up some harmless-sounding story. Instead I made an unconvincing excuse about dinner being ready and hung up on her. My parents weren't home yet and Jane probably knew it. But I was so mad I couldn't think straight.

I ran upstairs and pounded on Quinn's door. A moment later she opened it. "Daria, what's wrong with…" She backpedaled as I stomped in and shut the door behind me.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with _you?_ How stupid can you be?" I wasn't exactly shouting, but it was as close as I ever get. "You tell me I can't keep a secret, then you go out wearing _this_? And you let Jane see you?" I took off my jacket and shoved it at her.

Her lip was trembling already. Tough. "Daria, I was trying to do something nice! I—"

"This is your idea of nice? Stealing my jacket and running all over town with it? And after last night…" I groped for words, a rare phenomenon. "That's not something that anyone needs to know about. And if you go around attracting that kind of attention…Quinn, do you have any idea?"

"I'm not stupid, Daria." Her voice was so quiet I could barely hear it.

"Quinn, I'd like to be able to agree with you, but—"

"I made a mistake," she insisted. "I'm _not_ stupid."

Ω Ω Ω

We spent the rest of the evening avoiding each other as I struggled with the explanation she'd given me. I guess it made sense—if you were her—but it was a bad idea no matter how I looked at it. Wearing my jacket in front of the fashion fiends and coming back alive was amusing. But it wasn't worth being seen by the one person who would know something odd was going on.

Quinn and I didn't look at each other once during dinner. Dad was oblivious; he ranted almost nonstop about losing a client. Mom shot us a few worried looks, but she had to focus on preventing another paternal heart attack.

I retreated to my lair and changed clothes with every intention of going to bed early. But I had too much on my mind and nobody I could trust with it, so I tried to dull my senses by watching a bad movie in the living room. This one had a comedy actor playing a serial killer. That would probably do the trick.

The guy barely had time to poison his first victim before Quinn came into the room in her pajamas. I looked once, wished I hadn't, and locked my eyes on the screen. So much for dulling my senses. "Daria, um…I'm sorry."

"Nice to meet you, Sorry. If you run into my sister, tell her I'm still angry."

"I did it for _you_."

"You did it to make yourself feel better about me," I watched intently as the movie somehow got worse. Now two invisible detectives were hanging around and swearing at the killer. "This isn't some kind of game, Quinn."

"DAH-ria, I know that. I was there last night too, remember?"

"Were you?"

"Damn it, I know what's going on! Just because I don't think like you doesn't mean I'm totally clueless." I guess she was right, but I didn't have to admit it. She gave an exaggerated sigh and shuffled her fluffy slippers a little, but she didn't give up. "Um…so how's the show?"

"Awful. It's like they put a little bit of movie in a box and filled the rest with foam peanuts."

"Nuts? That reminds me, I'm allergic to pistachio dye. It gives me an icky rash all over my neck. Want to come watch that instead?"

I smirked, then did a very jarring double take. My sister had just tried to talk like me or Jane. And actually succeeded, sort of. Was I back in that parallel dimension again? I guess it was the only way to explain what happened next.

"Come on," she said impatiently.

"Excuse me?"

"Daria, you have to help me! I can't find the pistachios all by myself, I just _can't_."

"Quinn, we don't have any nuts in the house. Except you."

She looked sideways at me for a moment. "Then I guess you'll find me in the kitchen." She left. God. Did she know she was walking like that? My mouth felt cotton-dry as I stood up from the couch. _You need a drink, _I told myself. _That's the only reason you're going in there._

She was looking for something on a high shelf. Standing on her toes, her body delicately straining upward. It reminded me of yesterday morning. Like I needed _that._

I swallowed hard. If I was going to cross the line into damnation, I might as well do it with what little style I had. I stepped up behind her and reached up. My hand folded over hers and pushed, closing the cupboard. "Hey," she said in mock anger. It came out as a whisper. Her face was flushed.

"Fine. I'll look in here then." she opened a lower cupboard.

I closed it for her again.

She pouted and turned around. We were inches apart. "I have to have _something_, Daria."

"Yeah," I said. Was that really my voice? "You do."

I brought my lips to hers.

Quinn melted and leaned back against the refrigerator; I followed. I could feel her shaking as she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me closer.

We separated a moment later, studying each others faces. Imagine me looking to _her_ for answers. "I'm sorry about today, Daria," she said. "I swear I'll be more careful."

"Yes, Quinn. What could be more careful than this?"

"Ha," she smiled. One side of her face glowed neon in the light of the appliances. I watched her throat move as she breathed. How could she look so perfect?

She kissed me again. I returned it, pushing her up against the fridge. Pizza Forest souvenir magnets clattered to the floor. She gasped into my mouth and tilted her head, letting me go deeper. I thought I would die when one of her legs snaked around mine. Warmth beckoned from her, so intense that it burned me inside.

Somewhere between here and the living room, I'd forgotten why this was wrong.


	10. College Try

_Stop being reckless!_

_Don't worry, Daria. I may be reckless, but I'm also a problem solver._

Chapter 10: College Try

Ω Ω Ω

"Okay, try this one. I'm Upchuck, and I'm asking if you want to go for a ride in my vintage car."

I thought for a moment as I peeled some cheese off my pizza. "Um…I'd love to and all, but how are _you_ going to get home?"

Daria nodded. "Good. He's not giving up, though. He says he has a Jacuzzi in the trunk."

"Fine Upchuck, you can ride in there. Just stay underwater so my friends don't see you."

"Not as good as I would have done, but not bad. Okay, I'm Ms. Li, and I announce that I'm…uh, bringing in some drug-sniffing dogs to check all the lockers."

"Shouldn't we send the dogs to rehab first?" She smiled a little on that one. It only lasted a second, but it was a highlight of our night out. Did I mention Daria and I were having a night out? I guess we hitched a ride on some flying pigs.

Daria slurped her soda cup dry. "See, you can do it. With you carrying on my legacy of misanthropic sarcasm, Lawndale High will be in good hands."

"Thanks. But what about when I go to Pepperhill?"

"I refuse to believe you're attending a party school after all the progress you've made toward sentient awareness. But I guess you'll have to train an apprentice."

I was so wrapped up in the conversation that I accidentally took a bite of crust. "Yech. But most of the kids I know will be graduating with me."

"Try Kevin. He's likely to be there forever. Okay, one more. I'm an obnoxious child standing at your door in a green sash, while my overprotective parents lurk in the bushes behind me, and I'm trying to sell you some Girl Scout cookies. What do you say?"

"I want the crunchy mint ones!"

Her eyes rolled across the top of her glasses. "I mean what would _I_ say?"

"Oh, right. Hmm…tough one. Give me a minute."

"You don't have a minute. I'm a pushy kid. I won't take no for an answer."

"Um…"

"Buy my Girl Scout cookies, you big ditz!"

I looked at her like she was an insect. "Are they made from real girl scouts?"

Daria laughed, I know it. She kind of made this hiccupy sound and lost her grip on the cup. It spilled ice on the front of her shirt. "Damn."

"I'll buy the next batch if you're in them."

She shook her head as she got up from the table. "I taught you too well. Just a sec, I have to go wipe this shirt off."

"They have clothes that wipe off now? Let me try it." I joked. She blushed a little and ran to the bathroom. _Wow, I just flirted with my sister_. At least nobody noticed…but would anyone know we were sisters unless we told them?

That's what I was thinking about when somebody who knew us actually walked in. It was Jane. Why me? Part of me wanted to sink down in the booth. But another part didn't care one bit if she saw me (or us), and I guess that part won.

Jane froze for a second when she spotted me. I just looked back at her. I wasn't hiding, but I wasn't inviting her to our table either. She noticed Daria coming back from the bathroom, then turned back to me and narrowed her eyes. If she wanted to do that, I had learned from the queen of negative body language (especially when she had laryngitis a few months ago). I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows a little. _Yeah, we're here together. So what?_

Jane stared back at me as if to say _what the hell is going on?_ Then she just turned around and left.

I was going to have to talk to her about this. The old Quinn would have guilt-tripped Daria into doing it instead, but she had enough on her plate getting ready to move out and everything. I bit my lip and tried not to think about that either.

"There's gold in them there restroom stalls," Daria announced as she sat down. "Judging from that line in the ladies' room."

"What do you expect, Daria? Women who aren't as beautiful as us need a little more time."

She looked at me. "Since when am _I_ beautiful?"

"Since you started hanging around me. It rubs off. Like your shirt," I giggled like an idiot. "But seriously, always."

Her cheeks were getting red again. That happened a lot these days. "I'm not beautiful, Quinn. Flattery won't get you _quite_ everywhere. That's one thing you're going to learn when you get older."

"DAH-ria, stop talking like Mom!" I glanced around and lowered my voice. "I said you're beautiful and I mean it. You know I don't give makeovers to hopeless cases."

"So this is about your ego?"

"For once, no. Cause I wasn't flattering you."

She looked away and mumbled "thanks." We never used to talk like this. I always treated her like a walking bomb, like if I got too close she would blow me away in an explosion of…what? Unpopularity? That seemed so stupid now. The closer we got, the more crummy I felt about it.

We walked home together again. We didn't say much at first, but when a family passed us on the sidewalk I finally broke the ice. "I guess most sisters aren't like us, huh?"

"Driving each other crazy? I think that's pretty normal."

"But I mean…you know."

"I know." We walked for a while longer before she said, "I feel like I screwed everything up. I mean, we kind of had a deal, right? You did your thing, I did mine and I kept all these…weird feelings to myself. And then a week before I'm out of the house forever, I screw up the deal. Great timing, huh?"

"It was a lousy deal anyway, Daria," I shrugged. She didn't answer. "You sure enjoy beating yourself up. Do you really care that people think it's…un-moral or whatever?"

"You're asking me that? You're the one who's always worried about what other people think."

"Gees, Daria. Don't you think that gets old after a while? They've already got my hair, my wardrobe, my money…"

"Your mind, your hobbies, your soul…" She continued.

"Shut up," I grabbed her arm, turning her around so I could look at her. "The point is, they've gotten enough of me. Why should they get this, too?"

Daria smiled. No snappy comeback; I must have said something right.

"Race you home!" I laughed and jogged the rest of the way.

"Um, you win," she called.

As I got to our street, it hit me that I hadn't been out on a date since this whole thing started. Joey, Jeffie and Jamie must be going crazy. Was I ever going to start again? Why should I? I did more and felt better in those moments with Daria than I had with any guy in three years of compulsive dating.

You had to be careful with guys, I always told myself. Leave them wanting more so they don't take you for granted. But it went way deeper than that. Thinking about all the boys I'd gone out with, I couldn't remember ever _wanting_ them to touch me. Even with the ones I kissed, I just went through the motions and waited for it to be over. I was pretending—or maybe a better word was performing. And high school was the stage.

I was tired of the act. If this was the real thing I would take it, no matter what less attractive people might think. How could they ever make something like this a crime? When it happens between two people who care about each other, one of them who's very cute and the other who can be made cute, what's the point? Couldn't they see how these rules are _strangling me?_

Ω Ω Ω

I tossed and turned forever that night. My mind was everywhere and I couldn't decide how to feel. I thought about kissing her and was happy, I thought about her being gone and was sad, I thought about what we were hiding from Mom and Dad and felt guilty, I thought of feeling more comfortable with her than all the guys I dated put together and felt confused…then I imagined how I would look in my new fluffy pink sweater and was happy again. I think that was when I finally drifted off.

I hate getting up and just sitting around without showering, and she's always so _slow_ in the morning. But just this once I let her to have the bathroom first. It was a Saturday and our parents insisted on being home to help her start packing, so we couldn't talk much—at least not the way we wanted. I finally caught her in her room while Mom and Dad were fixing lunch.

"Jane is probably wondering what's going on."

"Mm." She was organizing some of her stories and putting them in a suitcase.

"Are you going to tell her?"

Daria stared at her papers like the answer might be in there somewhere. "I don't know yet."

"She was at the pizza place last night."

That got her attention. _"What?"_

"While you were in the bathroom. She left right away, though. I looked at her like I wanted to kill her, I don't know if that had anything to do with it."

Daria dropped her papers and sighed. "Damn it, Quinn. I told you—"

"I can go talk to her!"

"Quinn, these ideas of yours…do they come to you in dreams?"

"Nightmares, mostly. Tomorrow I'll tell you the one about the lip gloss-eating rats. But today I have to talk to Jane."

"Why _you?"_

"Because I'm the one she's wondering about! No matter what you say, she'll still think that _I'm_ up to something. Besides, you should stay here and pack. I won't be long, okay? Just trust me."

"Just tell me what you're going to tell her."

I couldn't. I didn't know myself. "I told you, just _trust _me. I'm not going to lie, but she won't know what she doesn't have to. That's how you would do it, right?"

To be honest, I never thought she would be okay with it. But right after lunch, there I was on the Lanes' doorstep. To make myself incongruous (or was it inconspicuous?) I wore the same cap and sunglasses that served me so well at Daria's graduation. _Okay, Quinn, this is it. Jane is kind of creepy, but she's not mean. You'll be okay._

I reached up slowly and rang the bell. After a minute of just standing there, I decided it must be broken. Go figure. I knocked instead.

It took so long for anyone to answer that I wondered if the door didn't work either, but finally it creaked open and there was Jane, her clothes stained with several colors of paint. I could tell she was really surprised to see me there alone, but she covered it up with a joke about my outfit. "Well, if it isn't the new meter reader."

"Jane! They don't let meter readers buy this kind of makeup. Now can I come in?"

"What for, didn't we pay our bill?" she said drily. "We're two months behind, now that I think about it."

If there was one thing I learned from Sandi, it was to not let people get to me. I took off the hat and glasses. "Fine, Jane. Now seriously, if you want to hear about what's been going on, let me in. But if you don't, tell me now, because my fall wardrobe isn't going to organize itself and—."

"Okay, okay. Enter."

I followed her upstairs to her room, which was almost as freaky as Daria's but a lot messier. A half-finished painting sat on an easel next to the bed. The face wasn't done yet, but I think it was me wearing Daria's jacket.

"Are you _still_ wondering about that?"

She half-smiled and went back to the painting. "It crossed my mind."

The room was quiet for a minute. I think she was waiting for me to say something, or maybe fall to pieces and whine out a full confession like I usually did, but Daria deserved better than that.

"So…pretty heavy, isn't it?" Jane whipped out her brush and touched up the collar of the jacket. I knew she was fishing, so I stayed quiet. "What's going on with you and Daria, I mean."

I shrugged. "I guess so. I mean, it's a bigger deal than borrowing a jacket…"

"That bothered you, didn't it?" She raised an eyebrow. "That I had the nerve to stop you and ask about it. I don't know if you noticed, but your sister is my best friend, and she _never _takes that jacket off except to shower and sleep. Sue me for being a little curious. "

"Oh, Jane, I had a lot on my mind! I was starting a new fashion trend. I knew _you_ wouldn't want to hear about that. I mean, you've got your running and your little paintings and—"

"Don't give me that!" she scowled. Her eyes were like ice as she switched to flesh tones and started painting the face. "You were hiding something. And what about the pizza place? The first time, you guys had an argument that _she_ wouldn't tell me about. And then last night—I don't know what the hell was going on there, except you gave me a look that screamed 'go away.' Things don't add up, Quinn. No offense, but I hang out with Daria because I like her, and _you_ only do it when you want something. So my question is—"

Something I couldn't answer. I cut in. "You're right, Jane. I went around babbling about clothes and telling people she was my cousin. And while I was doing that, you were…what I should have been. Like a sister to her."

Jane opened her mouth and then closed it again. "Um…well, yeah! That's the point. All of a sudden you're waltzing back in like 'hi! I'm ready to be a real sister now!' I don't buy it, Quinn. I think you're pulling something, _or_ there's something else that you guys don't trust me with. Either way, I don't like it."

"It's not about trust, Jane."

She turned away from the painting. "The hell it isn't!"

"It's about waking up and saying you're sick of being a stranger to someone you grew up with and trying to make up for something, and even though you probably can't make up for it you still want to try no matter how screwy it is." I was running out of words and breath to say them with. "I know it sounds weird, but it's our problem."

"You and Daria's problem," she repeated in disbelief. Her voice cracked. "And you can't tell me about it."

"That part is up to her," I said. She was listening, and I started to breathe easier. "I know you're worried about her. But I promise, I'm never going to hurt her again. We're both fine, you know?"

Jane squinted like I said something weird, or maybe something familiar. Finally she sighed and threw up her hands. "Okay, I believe you."

"We're good?"

"Quinn, we are good as you and I are ever going to be," Another smirk. She picked up her brushes again. "Now turn left and smile for a minute so I can finish this damn thing."

"But my left side has my better dimple!"

"Don't push it."


	11. The Shallowness of Depth

_Daria, do you think long-distance relationships are a good idea?_

_Yeah. Why don't we try one?_

Chapter 11: The Shallowness of Depth

Ω Ω Ω

_Three Weeks Later_

"Your college is _so_ not cute, Daria."

Those were the first words out of her mouth when she visited me at Raft. Not hi, not I missed you, not it's good to see you again. But that was Quinn.

"That's the point. It's cute by not being cute. Don't tell me you don't keep up with the trends." I rolled my eyes.

"For your information, anti-cuteness is out. _Waif_ said so in their latest issue, 'A Return to Sanity In Fashion'."

"Waif? Is that what you call the voice in your head that tells you to kill people in Crocs?"

"Oh, Daria! That's my conscience," She looked disdainfully around the soberly furnished dorm lounge. She was acting _too_ much like herself. When I didn't say anything, her eyes finally wandered back to me. "Is your room as bad as the rest of it?"

"Probably worse."

"Now _that_ I have to see for myself," she said firmly. "Which floor?"

I sighed and led the way upstairs. I still couldn't figure her out. She got so emotional the day I left that Mom and Dad were worried about her. And now the first time she saw me again, it was no big deal. Had she matured that much?

I should have known better.

She threw her arms around me as soon as I had the door shut._ Good thing Lisa's out of town, _I thought. My roommate had already been weirded out by my hydrocephalic skull replica. What would she think of this? _What do _I_ think of this?_

"Sorry. I missed you," she sniffed into my ear.

"That's okay. I'll be here all week," I deadpanned. More wet noises followed. I gave in and hugged her back a little. "Quinn…I'm not good at this, okay?"

"Duh. Just give me a second." We stood there for many seconds before Quinn looked up from the stain she'd left on my jacket. She looked like she hadn't been sleeping very well. "I used to wonder if this was just a weird crush or something."

"And?"

She smiled a little and shook her head. Even that motion looked amazing. She was like an angel, if there was a kind of angel that wouldn't play the harp because they might break a nail. How did I last this long without her? Maybe by thinking about it as little as possible. But now that I could…wow.

"It's been hard for me too," I admitted. "Not having you around, I mean."

"I'm always around, Daria," she said with the airy pretension that always accompanied a nugget of clueless wisdom. "Wherever you see a student whose cheekbones perfectly match their lip liner, I am there. If you have a professor who is aging gracefully but _not _carelessly, I am with you. If—"

"What if I see an annoying fashion nut who won't shut up?"

"Then I'm right in front of you," she said playfully, and kissed me. Not on the cheek, and not like a sister. I took her in my arms, differently this time. The way it felt was worth the wait, the senseless risk and the threat of hell. Assuming hell somehow was worse than Lawndale High.

It lasted a long time and not long enough. By the time we separated, her hands were stroking my hair and mine were slipping under her shirt. God, how I needed to feel her. To see her like I did that one morning. But I stopped and let her collect herself.

"Are you okay with this?" I don't think I'd ever spoken that softly to anyone.

She gazed at me wide-eyed and breathless, a doe in headlights. "Yeah. It's just…I'm so scared, Daria."

I put my hand over her heart and felt it pounding. "I know. So am I. We do what you're ready to do and then we stop."

"Heh. You make it sound so easy."

"I know," I said again.

Her pillow watched us from the headboard, smiling.

Ω Ω Ω

"I've always been so jealous of your hair," she whispered later in the dark. "How do you get it like that?"

"Um, I wash it sometimes," I said.

"Ewww."

"I don't obsess over my appearance. I'm sorry if that shatters your image of me." She snorted. "Now go to sleep. You need it."

I reached over and pulled her closer. For a while I just listened to her breathe. Nothing would ever hurt her again. Not even me.

I said one more thing before we fell asleep. "Quinn…you know this is going to get really weird, right?"

"Oh, Daria. I grew up with you. You think I don't know weird?"

The fashion drones picked her up from campus in the morning. All three of them seemed to be wearing some version of my jacket. I didn't ask. The brown and black-haired ones pretended not to see me. The one with braids smiled and waved.

Quinn just watched me as the car started moving, her eyes full of tears, promises and goodbyes. I stood there long after they drove off and took a piece of me with them.

As I walked back to my room in a daze, I tortured myself further by wondering if Quinn could really keep this to herself without me there to remind her. It was so easy to picture her coming home and Mom muttering "how was Daria, dear" and then the classic outburst…"Muh-_ommm_, do you have to know _everythinnng_ about what happened last night? Me and Daria are responsible women who trust each other and what we do 'conventually' is our own business and…"

But no. That was just it; we could trust each other now, at least with the things that really mattered. Maybe I couldn't trust Quinn not to annoy me or try to make me over again…but I could trust her to keep our secret.

I picked up the phone. Appropriately, I dialed the third and last person who knew about us.

"_Hey…Daria."_ Jane said quietly. It had been a while since we talked._ "So, um…did she visit yet?"_

"Yes. Last night."

"_Did you come to your senses?"_

"No. But we made it out alive, Jane. That's the important thing."

She paused. _"I don't know if I can handle this, Daria."_

"We'll try to help you through this difficult time."

"_Don't joke about it. You're going to hurt yourselves. You're going to hurt your family."_

I shook my head firmly, as if she was there to see me. "No. They're not going to find out."

"_How? I mean, if it was _my_ family maybe, but your folks are actually around! I give you six months and that's being generous. You're fooling yourself, Daria."_

"You don't get it. I'm being _honest_ with myself. How do you think this all started, anyway?"

"_Um…she watched a bad Lifetime movie while you were trying to read Sappho?" _Jane tried to joke, but it was more insulting than funny. I hoped my stony silence was making that clear._ "… Sorry. Okay, tell me. How _did_ it start?"_

"I just woke up and…saw her differently." An abridged version of the shower scene. "No, I _let_ myself see her. In a way that I was afraid to before. It was there, but I was pretending. We both were. And then we just stopped."

She didn't say anything for a minute. I was gripping the phone so hard it might have to be surgically removed.

"_Daria, I've let a lot of stuff go for our friendship. Every time I broke our little routine, you froze me out. I quit the track team for you. You stole my boyfriend and I forgave you. But this…this is a lot to ask."_

"Those things were between you and me. This is different. It's not your problem."

"_Have you been sniffing her nail polish or something? Of course it's my problem! You're my friend and you're doing something absolutely insane, and…it's not right, Daria!"_ She heaved a sigh into the receiver, like she was exhausted. _"I grew up with no direction at all, and I get that. Why don't you? How can I ever look at you guys again without thinking about it?"_

She had a point. "Jane, I know it sounds like something out of _Sick Sad World_, but it's real. Quinn and I can't go back, even if we wanted that. I could have lied and told you nothing was going on, but I chose to be honest. With her and with you. Despite the fact that it's slowly destroying my life."

"_No kidding,"_ she chuckled wearily.

A second and final silence. I extended an olive branch. "Can we talk about this? Face to face somewhere? I'll buy."

"_If you think bribing me with dinner at the best pizza place in Boston will get me to meet you even halfway on this…"_

"At least humor me."

"…_All right, Morgendorffer. You're humored. But make it good."_

One way or another, I would.

Ω Ω Ω

A long time ago, Jane and I made a documentary about Quinn for an assignment. I've forgotten the details, probably for a reason. We called it "The Depths of Shallowness."

It was supposed to be about the horrors of…what? Superficiality? High school? Quinn herself? I don't remember that either. We captured her in enough compromising moments for it to be _some_ kind of horror. But in the end, I went easy on her. Annoying as she was, she didn't deserve that. It was a rare moment of clarity on my part.

She admitted time and again that she didn't understand _me_, but was I ever that honest? I told myself, _what's there to understand? She's an airhead. As artificial and unhealthy as the candies that bear the name. I don't have to think about her. What's on TV tonight?_

Looking back, I saw how shallow _I_ had been. But to use a cliché that an aspiring writer like myself should be ashamed of, that was then. And this is now.

And if I can fit one more in there: I regret nothing.

The End

Ω Ω Ω

_**I wonder what it's like seeing through your eyes**_

_**You offered me to have a try, but I was always late**_

_**The filters that I use give me an excuse**_

_**I take away what's real, but I feel it and it blows my fuse.**_

**-from "Hanging Around," by The Cardigans **(I don't own the song or the band)

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: That's all, folks. To BF110C4, abe1803, J.V. Hart, MissSnarkling, ushouldkeepitsimple_ _and anyone else kind enough to check out my work...thank_ _you a thousand times for reading, reviewing and caring about a story that I thought no one else would be interested in. Writing from both sisters' perspectives seemed like the right way to go, and I think Quinn's parts came off best of all. I identify much more with Daria, but Quinn is like a cartoon muse. I'm crazy about her. This could have gone longer, but we were close to Daria's departure anyway, and I didn't want to force out material that didn't feel natural._

_So here we are. As I thought, writing this fic was a challenge and I hope I lived up to it. If you're interested, a sequel isn't out of the question, but we'll see. Bottom line, I'll be writing more for Daria in the near future. Don't forget me, and I won't forget you!_


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